Standstill
by Haelwyn
Summary: Echo wakes up in the middle of the city only to find out that gangs are tearing up his neighborhood, businesses are taking over the country, and, oh right, he died nine months ago. Several factions play for power among the living and the dead.


(Many thanks to Neal Shusterman for coming up with such a wonderful novel, and here's to my hopes I'll get to buy and read the next books soon. I came up with this idea for a fanfic a long time ago, and I've already posted the first chapter actually, but I only came to refine the whole storyline recently, and so I wanted to do it over again. So even if you haven't read Everlost, I hope I'll be able to explain all the concepts properly.

(Set in the Philippines, BTW, because that's what I'm familiar with. Had to review a bit of Philippine history, especially about Manila, which is a ghostly city in its own right; not many people know the many stories of the city, so I hope I'll be able to use as many urban legends and myths as possible.

(Please review, and if you've got information that might go good in the story, like ghost stories, white ladies and such, it would be greatly appreciated :D. Thanks so very much for reading!)

-.-.-

Between Life and Death

-.-.-

_There's something weird going on here_, the Captain thought to himself. _But what…?_ He scratched the back of his neck; it was an age-old mannerism of his, since the threadbare short-sleeved _camisa de chino_ he always wore itched right at the base of his neck. He raised his right arm to observe the seam that was coming apart, that had always been coming apart in his underarm.

He, and all his companions, called him Captain, because of his seniority, and experience as a guerilla warrior. Not many other people could compete with his lightning-quick reflexes, and sharp intuition when it came to difficult situations. Having been raised in a war era, he was trained right from the start how to fight, how to survive, and how to kill. Ten years he had lived. And a hundred years ago, he died.

Now he was in the middle of an air-conditioned mall in the middle of the Christmas season. It was crowded, but he didn't mind. He didn't bump into anyone; he glided right through them. He walked hovering an inch or so above the shiny tiled floor. He thought he saw his reflection once or twice, but it was just the glare of a thousand gentle indoor lights. People rushed to and fro, in the usual holiday scramble.

From under his raised elbow, he spotted a boy around his age walking towards him. He lowered his arm and focused his vision on the boy's face. It was a bit blurry at first, but became clearer as he approached. The boy was smiling and was hugging tightly in his arms a brand-new toy machine gun, still in its cardboard box. His parents walked on either side of him, chuckling to each other at how happy their son was. He got a better glimpse at the boy's face when they were only inches away from each other, the boy's eyes suddenly looking right through him, his brows furrowed as though he thought he might have seen something. For a second they seemed to gazed into each other's eyes, then the happy family trio walked right through the Captain as though he weren't there.

The Captain snickered to himself. "Silly boy, so you like weapons?" he said in a bitter voice, unheard by anyone around him. "I hate them," he said, spitting his words.

-.-.-

Jericho swore as soon as he had regained consciousness enough to think. He lay sprawled out face-down on cold concrete, his cheek touching filthy ground. He raised his head a little and spat, a bitter taste still in his mouth. He looked around him - he heard feet treading all around, but it was all blurry to him. He swore again and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He couldn't see clearly two inches in front of his nose, but he could see that his clothes were a little blackened in places, and that his shirt had suddenly become sleeveless in the time that he was unconscious. His body was numb all over, as though all his limbs had fallen asleep, and he had a splitting headache that was thankfully going away now that he was awake.

Blinking rapidly, he tried looking at his surroundings again. They were becoming slightly clearer now. People were walking rapidly on what appeared to be the sidewalk outside of his campus. Cars drove by sluggishly in the traffic, and hawkers yelled up and down the road.

He stood up shakily and quickly went to the side, to get out of everyone's way while he cleared his head. Thankfully, no one bumped into him as he made his way across the unending stream of people. As he reached for the wall to lean on, he stepped in something incredibly soft.

Looking down, he expected to have stepped maybe in animal excreta, a pile of old clothes left by some street-dweller, or maybe a street-dweller himself lying on the sidewalk. But as he looked closely, he could see nothing except the concrete sidewalk - and his foot sinking right into it.

Startled, he pulled his foot out and stepped backwards. But his feet sank there, too. He lost his balance and now both feet were slowly going through the pavement. "Help!" he shouted to the people passing by, but they seemed not to notice him. "Hey, can't you hear me? I need help," he said, reaching out to grab the arm of a passing man. His hand went right through, grabbing nothing, not even air.

"W-what's going on?" he muttered to himself, as he stood there, shocked, and slowly sinking into the ground. "Someone, someone help me!" he said, grabbing wildly into the air. "Help-," he cried, then swore for the third time, as his shoulders went under.

"Hold up there, man," he suddenly heard someone call from above, and an arm holding fast onto his. With only his face above the ground, he saw a girl there, clear as day in contrast to the blur of people around, holding onto him. "Didn't expect you to be such a rowdy one, sinking to the center of the earth on your first day," she said, slowly pulling him up.

When they were both standing on what seemed like solid ground, Jericho was bent over and panting, trying to catch his breath. The girl seemed normal enough, dressed in a large _polo_ shirt and jeans, carrying a backpack.

"You can forget about that," she said, impatiently tapping her foot.

"Forg-," he said, standing up straight, "Forget about what?"

"Breathing," she said, matter-of-factly. "Oh, never mind, you'll realize soon enough. Come on, let's go," she said, turning away from him abruptly.

"Wait, what?" he said, dumbfounded, rooted to the spot.

"Oh, that's right. Shoes," she said, snapping with her fingers. She suddenly swung her backpack onto the ground and squatted next to it, rummaging around for something.

"Here, take these," she said, handing him what looked like two large _abaniko_ fans with some yarn tied to them.

"What do I do with these?" he asked, taking the fans.

"Tie them to your feet, duh," she said, closing up her backpack again and hoisting it onto her back. She pointed to her own rubber shoes, with _abaniko_ fans tied to them like snowshoes. "Unless you want to be pulled in like quicksand again."

Jericho hurriedly complied.

"Good, now let's go," she said, pulling on his arm. "The Captain and I have been waiting for you now."

"Why? What's happening?" he said, so many questions popping into his mind, but his brain hardly comprehending anything she said. He let himself be dragged along, his feet now held up from the ground by the large "snowshoes."

"What's happening?" the girl said, "You're dead. That's what's happening."


End file.
